


What Happens In Tuscany.

by footballffbarbiex



Category: Football RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-12
Updated: 2018-07-12
Packaged: 2019-06-09 08:18:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15263262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/footballffbarbiex/pseuds/footballffbarbiex
Summary: A relationship in Tuscany must stay in Tuscany.





	What Happens In Tuscany.

The issue with break-ups is that you either expect it, or your don’t. Some, you can see coming from miles away. You notice the distance creeping in, the kisses that break away quicker each time, cuddles that are shorter and embraces which aren’t as tight or close. Fingers which loosely entwine with yours rather than holding your hand firmly pressed to theirs; a silent declaration to anyone looking that you are theirs and they are yours.  
It gives you time to adjust to the impending realisation that your relationship is coming to an end. It gives you time to rationalise the idea, come to terms with it and accept it. 

It’s the relationships which aren’t like that, where neither of you want to break that kiss first no matter how swollen your lips are becoming, how out of breath or hot you are. Not wanting to pull away from their body as their arms wrap around you. Watching them doing daily, mundane things and feeling your heart swell with love for them.  
You expect to be hurt by a bad boy. You know the drill, you know who they are before you hook up with them. It’s less of a shock when they hurt you because hey lets face it, you expected something like it from them. 

I didn’t expect Antoine to hurt me. 

 

To rip my heart from my chest and for him to walk away seemingly unscathed. 

He was one of the good ones. The loving ones.  
He was the one who was supposed to be the classic “happily ever after” for me. I loved him. My friends loved him. My family loved him. There hadn’t been anyone that I’d introduced him to that didn’t love him.  
Tuscany was supposed to be the start of everything. Instead my relationship ended when the holiday did.  
\----

“Antoine,” I sing his name cheerfully as I pad through the house, breakfast, juice and a protein shake adorn the tray I carry towards the bedroom. It was 6:30am and Antoine had training soon with the France team as several friendlies were coming up. He knew I hated him leaving the house on an empty stomach and after the incredible holiday we’d come home from I was in high spirits and so wanted to do something nice for him. I’d woken early and walked down to the bakery which usually doesn’t open for another hour or so but Antoine knew the owners and so they were kind enough to sell me some fresh bread and croissants and their famous jam.  
I’d danced around the kitchen humming happily to myself in the small cottage he bought in the south of France for a get away home. The décor was modern French and very quaint and I loved being here. It was so quiet and peaceful. Pushing the bedroom door open with my foot, my eyes scan the room for my boyfriend who is no longer in the bed where I’d left him. His smooth golden skin and messy hair did not stand out from the crisp white sheets which were now crumpled and empty. ”Antoine?”  
I leave the tray on the bottom of the bed and walk down to the bathroom only to find, that too, empty. Picking up the glass of orange juice once back in the bedroom, I make my way to the windows and peer out to see if he’s swimming lengths in the pool. Taking sips, my tongue zinging from the fresh juice, I note that the pool is empty. The surface rippling from the soft breeze. Other than the breeze, the surface remains untouched

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Antoine asks, striding into the room in his kit, a fresh shirt in his hands.  
“I thought you’d left.” I smile at him, turning my body to gesture to the tray. “And I had planned on serving you breakfast in bed. But you’re already out…” He smiles and closes the gap between us, placing his lips upon the skin at my hairline.  
“Thank you, that was generous.” He walks around to his side of the bed and begins to pack his bag again. It’s then that I notice other items in there. Items he doesn’t need for training. Items for a long weekend away.  
“Are you ok?” I ask, my eyes darting from the bag to his back. They flicker to his chest of drawers and it’s then that I see some drawers have been opened and not closed properly. Drawers he wouldn’t have used today. My OCD ensures that every drawer, door and window is closed correctly. Everything must have a place. This was opened today when I was not home.  
“Uh huh.” He responds whilst not looking at me.  
“What are our plans for tonight? Do you want me to get something in for dinner?” I ask, still noticing the bag contents and feeling more and more uneasy by the minute.  
“Erm, I don’t think that’s needed. I, uh,” his hands shake slightly. I wouldn’t have noticed had this been a normal morning, but my skin vibrated, the hairs on my arms and the back of my neck stand to attention and my stomach drops. He begins to pull his shirt back out and folds it, then refolds it once more.  
“Antoine you’re scaring me. What’s wrong?” The feeling in my stomach increases and I feel sick. Something was not right.  
“I…” he begins but trails off, unable to finish his sentence. He sucks in a deep breath and drops the shirt onto the open bag. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he rests his elbows upon his knees and runs his long fingers through his dirty blonde hair. The action causes his biceps to tense, an action which would usually cause my stomach to flip. “I have training later and then I’ll be going.” He finishes his sentence but the expression on his face, the far away look in his blue eyes say that he’s working things out in his mind. How to tell me or figure out what else he needs? Figure out where he’s going and when.  
“Oh, for how long?” I ask, the uneasy feeling still not moving; the grip on the glass of orange juice becoming tighter and tighter.  
“Indefinitely.”  
“Do, uh, do you have a transfer?” I asks, my stomach continues to drop and I’m tempted to check the floor that it hasn’t fallen out of my ass. I feel a lump form in my throat and a burning sensation begin in my chest which is tightening by the minute.  
“No. Not a transfer,” he pauses to swear in French, before locking eyes with me. “I can’t do this any more.”  
“Do what?” I need him to say it, need him to say that he cannot be in this relationship anymore. But I can’t bear to hear those words. We sit in silence for a few moments.  
“This. Us. This relationship.” He stares at the floor, never blinking as his thumbs circle over each other, never touching as though a magnetic field stops them from doing so. He jumps, his eyes wide and staring at my feet. It’s then I realise that I’ve dropped the glass, the juice splatters up the bed frame, across the floor and oozes in between the boards of the flooring. Shards of glass shatter everywhere, splinters embed themselves within my feet and specks of red appear where they puncture my skin.  
“How had you planned to tell me? Had I not interrupted you packing.” I watch as Antoine hangs his head, his fingers ruffle his hair. Through the gap in his arm above his elbow which remains on his knees and below his head, I see him suck his lips in, the tip of his tongue pokes out and wets them. “Antoine if you’re breaking up with me at least tell me how you would have found the time to grow some balls and tell me had I not walked in.”  
“I don’t know. I’d have waited until I’d left to figure it out.”  
“You coward.” I step forward, my foot crunches on the glass, “You absolute cowa-” Antoine is on his feet and in front of me quicker than I can finish my question. He pulls me over his shoulder and plonks me onto the bed.  
“Your foot. Don’t stand on the glass.” He says, his face screwed up with genuine concern as blood drips onto the floor.  
I shove him away hard, the palms of my hand pressing into his shoulder. “Get away from me. You don’t have the right to break up with me with the intention of not even fucking telling me to my face and then try and console me.” I wiggle my way to the end of the bed, my foot now stinging and throbbing with a heat. Grabbing his still open training bag, I throw it at his chest. “Get out and get away from me.” He opens his mouth and begins to say my name, so I cut him short “I SAID GET OUT.” His face remains twisted in a concerned expression, his eyes aren’t the ones I grew to love, they show his pain, his chest heaves as his breathing fail to regulate and his adams apple bobs as he tries to swallow. My eyes sting from holding back the tears that threaten to spill. It’s only when he leaves the room and I hear his footsteps on the stairs and finally the front door bang close. It’s only as I hear the engine of his car come to life and the tyres screeching down the driveway that I allow the tears to fall, the sobs to fall from my mouth and for my chest to burst.


End file.
